


stitch and suture

by charmanander



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Handyman AU, M/M, Trans Kurapika, gansta inspired, non-linear continuity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmanander/pseuds/charmanander
Summary: “No. Absolutely not. I’d do a lot of shit for you, Kurapika. But not this.”Kurapika just raises his brow. He sways his head to the side, blond hair curling around his bare shoulder. He steps around the corner of the desk, fingers dragging across the wood top. He stops in front of Leorio and brushes a hand over his knee.“Why not? What does it matter to you?”Leorio feels the veins in his hand pop, protruding angrily in his balled-up fist. He grits his teeth, and the impassive expression on Kurapika’s face makes his entire body ache.“You know damn well what it matters.”Kurapika tucks his hair behind his right ear, red jewel earring glittering in the afternoon sun. He slides his leg forward and brushes their thighs together, fabric of Leorio’s sweatpants bunching up beneath Kurapika’s hip. Kurapika settles himself on Leorio’s lap, one hand on Leorio’s knee, the other braced against the back of the chair.“It’s just work, darling.”
Relationships: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 10
Kudos: 196





	stitch and suture

**Author's Note:**

> it's been four years since ive written fic, but 2020 quarantine means leopika supremacy  
> vaguely gansta inspired, but doesn't take place in that universe. just. take it for what it is, i guess.  
> tags will update with content warnings as the story goes on, so please be mindful. warnings will be advised before chapters as well.

It’s normal for Kurapika to leave home unannounced. If he comes back within a week, Leorio remarks he’s home early. The average length of absence is three months. 

He breaks into the apartment because he’s long lost the key. He doesn’t remember that Leorio leaves a spare in the rain gutter, for the day Kurapika comes back. 

So he kicks the bottom corner of the door in, knocks the doorknob loose, and lets himself in. 

It’s too early for dawn, sky dark and air brisk with witching hour bite. 

Leorio is awake and sitting at his desk, textbook lit by a singular reading lamp. 

Neither of them say hello. Kurapika sits on the kitchen table (two cinderblocks side by side with a slat of particle board on top), scoots back until the backs of his knees slot with the edge of the wood. Leorio stands from his chair, back hunched to avoid hitting his head on the hanging light. He picks his briefcase up from under his desk and walks to the table, gait wide and stride long. 

They sit in practiced silence while Leorio assesses the damage.

He pulls Kurapika’s eyelids taut, clicks his pen light on and shines it into his eyes. Kurapika winces, and Leorio watches his pupils contract into pinholes, light reflecting on the edge of his contact lenses. He moves the light to his left and waits for Kurapika’s eyes to follow. They flutter in their sockets, but eventually follow Leorio’s hand. He clicks the light off and watches Kurapika’s expression soften. His pupils dilate back to their normal size, and in the dark Leorio might think his eyes are pitch black. 

  
  


Leorio splays his hand on Kurapika’s chest, pushing him down until his back is flat against the particle board. Leorio slides his hand down to wrap around Kurapika’s left ribs. He applies slight pressure, and hears Kurapika’s breath hitch.

Leorio breaks the silence.

“Inhale as deep as you can.”

Kurapika hesitates. Leorio sees his jaw tighten, teeth gritting. But he does as he’s told. Leorio feels Kurapika’s lungs expand under his grip, and at the peak of his inhale, feels him strain and tremble. Leorio sighs.

“Shirt off.” He turns away and opens his briefcase, revealing lines of vials and needles, bandages and compresses, pills and powders. The sound of fabric dropping to the ground draws Leorio’s attention back to the table. He clicks his tongue. Kurapika’s entire upper torso is compressed down with disgustingly bloody medical bandages- a habit that Leorio thought he’d beat out of him. Leorio shakes his head, aggravated. He pulls a stethoscope from his briefcase and winds it around his neck and into his ears. He presses the diaphragm to Kurapika’s chest. 

“So, do you have broken ribs because someone beat the shit out of you, or because you keep wearing these when I’ve told you not to?” He slides the chestpiece to Kurapika’s back and listens to his uneven breathing. 

“This implies that someone has the ability to beat the shit out of me.”

“So you admit, your ribs broke from your own neglect?”

Kurapika doesn’t respond, just narrows his eyes. Leorio doesn’t press any further. He winds the earpiece back around his neck and steps back. 

“Take the bandages off. I can’t clean the wound with them on. Let’s hope it’s not infected yet.”

“I can clean it myself.” 

Leorio rolls his eyes.

“Cut the shit, you prude. You would have cleaned it yourself by now if that were true. Let me fix it.”

Kurapika scowls, but again, does as he’s told. Leorio looks away as Kurapika starts to unstick the blood-stained compression tape from around his chest. He balls it up in his fist and tosses it off the side of the table onto the ground. 

“Okay. Get it over with. Don’t touch me and don’t stare.”

“Sure. I’ll just let your missing flesh stitch itself closed while I look the other way.”

“Stop being a smart-ass.”

Leorio turns around and does the exact opposite of what he’s told. He stares, not because of Kurapika’s bare skin, but because of the gash that runs from his left collar bone, between the valley of his chest, all the way down to his navel. It’s deep and ugly, most likely made with a jagged edged blade.

“Jesus, Kurapika.” Leorio puts a hand on his shoulder gingerly, lightly pushing Kurapika back against the table. He gets up to turn on the kitchen light. It flickers an ugly fluorescent, and Kurapika covers his eyes with the back of his hand. 

The too-bright kitchen illuminates Kurapika’s skin in all the wrong places. Dried blood and black-blue bruising contrasts starkly against alabaster-pale skin. Leorio puts on gloves and wets a rag at the kitchen sink. 

As he starts to clean off the days (weeks?) old crusted blood, Kurapika moves his arm down and stares up at the ceiling. He scowls when Leorio cleans closer to the open wound, but otherwise stays perfectly still. 

“So someone beat the shit out of you after all. Sorry for assuming you were just binding with bandages for shits and giggles.” Crusted blood peels away, revealing more bruised skin. Leorio tosses the rag to the side and addresses his attention to the wound itself. 

“He’s dead. And I’m alive. So I would constitute that as not getting the shit beat out of me.” Kurapika flinches and hisses as Leorio starts picking out debris and rubble from inside the cut. 

“How long have you had this?” 

“About two weeks.” 

Leorio snaps his head up, disbelief and aggravation settling in his brow.    
  
“Two weeks?! What the fuck, Kurapika. Why didn’t you go to the hospital?” The wound is most definitely infected. Having never been properly cleaned, puss is puddling out around the swollen cut. Judging by the depth of the gash and the unclean edges, Leorio can only assume that Kurapika had been pinned down while someone carved open his chest with a dull knife. Leorio bites his lip and tries to steady his shaking hands. He works on draining the abscesses that have formed, ignoring the swell of anger blooming deep in his chest. 

Kurapika rolls his head to one side, dirty blond hair fanning across the table. 

“Because I knew you’d fix it better.” 

Leorio stops, scalpel hovering above Kurapika’s skin. His heart swells unnecessarily. He shakes his head. 

“Ridiculous fucking bastard.” 

They resume their silence from earlier as Leorio applies an antibiotic solution to the cleaned wound. He can feel Kurapika staring at him, eyes boring into the side of his skull. Leorio keeps his head down, he doesn’t trust himself to make eye contact. 

As requested, Leorio only touches where it is absolutely necessary. He knows Kurapika would beat him to near death if he did otherwise, but that isn’t what’s stopping him. He focuses intently on the job at hand- he thinks nothing of the steady pulse beating beneath his fingers, the rise and fall of Kurapika’s chest, or the shallow breaths that tickle his hairline with every exhale. 

When the wound is cleaned, he lowers his hands and turns to his briefcase. He drops a roll of gauze tape and a ziploc bag of pills on the table. 

“Minor concussion. Two broken ribs, one fractured. Fluid in lungs, you’re starting to develop early signs of pneumonia. Deep, infected wound, about 25 centimeters in length. I’ll need to stitch it up once the infection clears up. Take the antibiotics once a day, plus the ibuprofen for the swelling and fever. Ice your ribs before bed. You can wrap up the wound, but for the love of fuck, Kurapika, do NOT wrap it tight or I will be the one who kills you.” Leorio stands from the table, shoulders hunched while he walks to the kitchen sink. He turns away as Kurapika sits up and starts to wrap himself with the gauze. He tries to stand from the table too quickly, stumbling when his vision blurs. 

Leorio steadies him, large hands heavy on his shoulders. 

“Okay. Maybe “minorly” concussed is being too nice.” He observes the bandages, and to his surprise, they are wrapped loosely, wound covered but chest uncompressed. He lets out a sigh. Kurapika raises a brow.    
  
“What? Do you not trust me?”

“No, I don’t.” 

“I listen to my health care professionals.” 

“Bullshit.” Leorio runs the sink and fills Kurapika a glass of water. He wiggles the bag of pills in his face. “Now, take your medicine.” Kurapika rolls his eyes, but takes the ziploc bag and pops the pills one at a time. 

“Do I get a lollipop?” 

Kurapika is joking, so he doesn’t notice when Leorio reaches into his pocket. Before he can ask questions or protest, Leorio’s shoving a melted cherry sucker past his lips and into his mouth. Kurapika nearly gags. He coughs around the candy, sickly sweet artificial flavoring coating his tongue. 

“There. Now go to bed. And you better fucking still be here when I wake up.” 

Leorio shoves his hands in his pocket and stomps to the opposite end of the apartment towards his room, grumbling to himself  _ (“He won’t be, that fucking asshole will be gone before my morning shit,”).  _

There’s an audible  _ pop!  _ of Kurapika removing the lollipop from his mouth. 

“Leorio.” 

Leorio stops in the hall and braces one hand against the archway. 

“What, I’m tired.”

“I appreciate it.”    
  
Kurapika says it so quietly, Leorio almost has the audacity to make him repeat it, just to make sure he heard right. He doesn’t though, because Kurapika wouldn’t. He would just throw the lollipop with precision aim at Leorio’s head and get it stuck in his hair. 

Instead, Leorio covers his face with the hand that isn’t pressed against the wall. He feels his neck flush and the hairs on the back of his neck prick. He doesn’t turn around. 

“Just. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Okay.” 

It’s not a confirmation or a denial, but it’s the best Leorio’s going to get. He hears soft footsteps fade in the opposite direction and the click of a door closing. Leorio drags his hand down his face and takes a deep breath. He reaches his own room, and it feels cold and uninviting. Leorio doesn’t tell Kurapika this, but when he isn’t home (which is most of the time), Leorio sleeps in the living room, at his desk or on the couch. There’s something about sleeping in his room that feels desperately lonely, when he knows the other room is unoccupied. 

He always wants to be there, in case Kurapika comes home. 

But when Leorio lays down on his bed for the first time in three months, the mattress gives way and Leorio feels himself melt into the pillows and blankets. 

When Leorio closes his eyes, and as sleep clouds his thoughts, he thinks he can hear Kurapika’s soft breaths, sound asleep and safe on the opposite end of the apartment. 

  
  
  
  


The sound of his bedroom door closing is deafening. Kurapika feels on edge, eyes darting from one end of the room to the next, half expecting someone to jump out of his closet and slam him into the wall. 

He takes a deep breath, which sends him into a coughing fit, which makes his ribs ache, which makes his head hurt. If there was anyone in his closet or under his bed, he assumes they would have come out by now. 

His room smells musty, that stale, unlived in scent that tends to inhabit old cabins and road-trip motel rooms. It looks nearly identical to how he left it- immaculate and void of any personal belongings. There are no photos, no souvenirs. No little trinkets from vacations or anything that indicates the inhabitant has any fond memories. It’s practically the same as how he left. 

Practically. 

Kurapika sets his bag on his desk and stares at his bed. Kurapika would describe himself as a creature of habit when it comes to the mundane- the instances where he is home, he follows a regiment down to a t. When he makes his bed, he tucks the flat sheet under the mattress and pulls the covers back at the corner.

So he stares at his bed, because the flat sheet is completely untucked, spilling out over the edge of the frame. The comforter is drawn all the way up to the headboard, and the pillows sit on top of the sheets. Kurapika frowns, silently drawing his knife from his back pocket. Maybe, he thinks, it was too soon to assume no one was in his closet or under the bed. 

He stands outside his sliding closet door and listens intently. He hears nothing, no movement, no breathing. He stands defensively and pushes the door open. His clothing flutters from the force of the door opening, but otherwise, the closet is empty. 

Ducking down to check under the bed completely obliterates his ribs. He wraps his arm around his left side while he lifts up the untucked sheet and peers under the bed frame. Kurapika coughs from the dust, but sees nothing. He clicks his knife closed and tucks it back in his pocket. 

Kurapika closes his eyes and presses into the sockets with his thumb and forefinger. The (poorly) made bed is begging him to lie down, begging him to release the tension weighing down his shoulders and threatening to snap his neck. 

When he lies down, the realization is so shocking, Kurapika almost thinks he’s been shot. The sheets reek of aftershave, cigarette smoke, and floral laundry detergent. It’s an actively unpleasant smell, but it makes Kurapika’s eyelids flutter, lashes kissing the tops of his cheekbones. He turns his head to press his face into his pillow. He can’t stop himself from inhaling, despite the rib pain, despite his pride. 

Kurapika’s bed smells like home. It smells like morning coffee that’s been brewed too long, like stale wine in a shared chipped glass, like smoke rings blown thisclose to his face. All the souvenirs he doesn’t have, all the memories he’s afraid to show, they surround Kurapika in a 100 thread count sheet. He’s torn between bolting from his bed and disappearing into the night, or wrapping himself up tight until his heart jackhammers through his chest and shatters his remaining ribs. 

_ “Just. I’ll see you in the morning.”  _

Kurapika pulls the sheet over his eyes. Just this once, he lets himself fall asleep in the home he isn’t supposed to have. 

  
  
  
  
  


“You can’t eat Leorio’s chicken nuggets, he’s  _ poor _ , remember?” 

“Yeah, so are we, and we’re kids, so our needs come first.” 

“Killua, that’s mean. He’s poor  _ and  _ in college. He needs the chicken nuggets more than us.” 

Leorio’s primal instincts awaken him, a need to defend his next meal. He senses scavengers in his territory. When he turns in his bed, his bones creak angrily, demanding he lay back down and sleep properly for a few hours longer. 

The sound of pans clanging and dishes falling in his kitchen tell him otherwise. 

“No, you have to preheat the oven first. You can’t just turn the oven up all the way.”

“Why not? 20 minutes at 375 degrees is the same as 5 minutes at 1500 degrees.”   
  
“The oven doesn’t even GO that high.” 

It’s eleven in the morning, and there’s two dirty kids huddled around his oven. An empty chicken nugget bag lays on the floor, trail of frozen breading leading from the freezer to the stove. Two pans and a pot sit under the kitchen table, alongside a broken plate next to the refrigerator door. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Gon?” Leorio doesn’t say it with anger or irritation, just mild concern that borders on disinterest. He’s stepping over the plate and reaching into his pantry for coffee grounds when the two kids look up at him. 

“Oh, hey.” White shaggy hair bobs around when the other kid tilts his head up. “Gon said he was hungry.” He slides a tray of extremely frozen hunks of meat into the oven and closes the door. The coils aren’t even red yet. 

“Okay….And that’s my problem because…?” Leorio doesn’t even look away from the coffee maker. He sticks a filter in the basket and scoops grounds into the paper. 

“Mito-san hasn’t been home since last night.” Gon opens the oven and takes the tray of chicken nuggets back out and changes the oven setting back to preheat. “We already finished all the food she made for us. Killua didn’t want corn flakes this morning, and we didn’t have anything else.” 

“Where’s Mito-san?” Leorio sits down at the table and watches the white-haired kid try to turn the oven settings higher again. 

“Working.” Gon slaps away the other boy’s hand and pushes him away. He pouts, climbs onto the kitchen table and sits cross legged in the middle. 

They’re all silent for a bit while Leorio stares.    
  
“Who...are you?” 

“Killua.” He says it so matter-of-factly, as if the response is supposed to satisfy Leorio.    
  
“...Okay, and? Why are you here?” 

“Because Gon said you had chicken nuggets.” 

Leorio forgets how difficult talking to children can be. 

He doesn’t get any more information. Killua jumps off the table when Gon retreats to the living room to sit on the couch. He turns on the TV and puts on the Saturday morning cartoons, leaving Leorio with his morning coffee. 

“Oh, Leorio.” Gon turns away from the TV to look at him from over the arm of the couch. “I heard Kurapika come home last night. Is he still here?” 

Leorio blinks. Gon is a twelve year old kid that lives on the ground floor of their apartment complex. Leorio and Kurapika live on the third floor. Sometimes, Leorio thinks Kurapika floats instead of walks, because he can NEVER hear his footsteps. Nothing has ever led Leorio to believe Gon is anything but some twelve year old kid who likes scooters and Yu-Gi-Oh cards, but sometimes he wonders if he’s like. A superhuman or something. Because on occasion, he’ll say creepy shit like this. 

“I haven’t checked. He went to sleep pretty late.”    
  
Gon makes a humming noise and turns back to the TV.    
  
“I hope he’s still here. I wanted to ask him some questions about my deck.” 

Leoiro snorts. Kurapika uncharacteristically enjoys trading card games. It’s one of the few things that reminds Leorio he’s still human. 

“My deck is better than yours.” 

“No it isn’t!”   
  
“Cyber Dragon is the best.” 

“No, Dark Magician is!” 

  
“Noob.” 

Leorio has no clue what the hell the kids are talking about (doesn’t even know who one of the kids is), but the oven is pinging, and they’re still arguing about “support cards” and “extra decks”. Leorio considers letting their nuggets burn, but he also considers the pain wasting perfectly good food, and decides against it. 

As he’s shaking the chicken nuggets onto a plate and squirting ketchup into a bowl, he hears the door behind him creak open. 

“Pika!” 

Gon does an impressive front flip over the side of the couch and bounds towards Kurapika in a full armed hug. Leorio is  _ certain  _ Gon is the only person in the world who is allowed to hug Kurapika. He doesn’t hug him back, just holds his arms out to the side and stares down at the kid wrapped around his waist. But when Gon untangles himself, he’s still alive, so it means something. 

“Hello, Gon.” Kurapika’s voice remains flat, but Leorio’s known him long enough to recognize a lilt of something- something warm and tender. 

“You NEVER answer my texts. I had some serious questions for you.” 

_ Don’t worry, Gon,  _ Leorio thinks to himself.  _ He doesn’t answer me, either.  _

Kurapika scratches the back of his head, and has the sense to be somewhat embarrassed. 

“There was...bad signal where I was working.” 

  
Leorio has to repress a scoff. 

“Well, it’s fine, since you’re here now. Hey, I want you to meet my friend!” Gon tugs Kurapika to the couch, and Killua’s sitting on the armrest, flashing a peace-sign with his fingers. 

Leorio walks to the living room and puts the nuggets down on the floor. There isn’t space for a coffee table, so the kids immediately crawl off the couch to surround the plate of food like vultures surrounding a body. 

“Hey, you didn’t introduce me, why is Kurapika special?” 

“Because Gon likes Kurapika more.” Killua says it between bites of nugget, spraying chunks of breading on Leorio’s face. He scowls and sits down on the couch. On the opposite end, Kurapika has his face turned, face behind his forearm. The asshole is laughing at him.

_ Bastard,  _ Leorio thinks. 

“I met Killua at the bus depot. I met him there every day for most of summer so we could hang out and play Yu-Gi-Oh. He also taught me how to skateboard.”    
  
“Yeah, but you totally suck at it.” 

“I don’t! I just don’t have my own to practice.” 

The two kids argue about skateboarding tricks, and Leorio’s left to wonder what kind of sad, dystopic town he lives in where kids hang out at the bus depot. 

“Anyways, Killua can’t go home right now, so he’s staying with me and Mito-san. So you’ll probably see us here a lot.” 

Kurapika, who had since been leaning against the arm of the couch with his face pressed into his hand, straightens his posture and turns to Gon alertly. 

“Gon, what do you mean he can’t go home right now?” 

Gon shrugs and shoves another nugget in his mouth.    
  
“Exactly what it sounds like. He can’t go home right now, so he’s staying with me.” 

“Yeah, but...I think what Kurapika is trying to ask is...Why?” Leorio exchanges a side glance with Kurapika, eyes darting to his left and then back at Gon. 

“He just can’t. Mito-san said it’s fine. Right, Killua?” 

Killua wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve and nods his head.   
  
“Yup. Home’s not really an option right now, so Mito-san said it’s fine for me to stay with them.” 

Leorio scratches his head, unconvinced.    
  
“Like. Your house has asbestos? Sort of thing?” 

Killua shrugs.    
  
“Sure.” 

Kurapika frowns, but turns his head back to the wall again. It’s clear the boys won’t give them a straight answer, so Leorio guesses he’ll just have to ask Mito-san for more details later. 

“So yeah. This is Killua, so he’s going to be coming with me to your place from now on.” Gon is the definition of asking for forgiveness, not permission. 

Leorio exhales through his nose, but he doesn’t argue. He already has to deal with Gon, how much worse could one more kid be? 

“Hey, old man. You have any soda or something?” 

A lot worse, apparently. 

Leorio is too busy getting angry  _ (I’m NOT old, goddammit, I’m ONLY 23, it’s NOT my fault my FACE looks like this.)  _ to notice Killua jumping over Gon and making his way to the fridge.    
  
“Ew. Just beer. Only old dudes drink beer.”

“I’m NOT old.”   
  
Killua pointedly ignores him and turns back to Gon.    
  
“Gon, let’s go buy soda.” 

Gon frowns at him and turns his shorts pockets inside out.    
  
“Killua, we don’t have money, remember? That’s why we came here for breakfast.” 

Killua groans and lays down in the middle of the kitchen floor, moaning about needing sugar or surely, he will die. 

Gon does a one-handed cartwheel from the living room into the kitchen and starts nudging Killua with his foot. The groans get louder. Gon kicks him harder, in the ribs. Killua groans even  _ louder,  _ grabbing Gon by the shin and flipping him over. They run into the kitchen table, knocking over Leorio’s entire briefcase, still open from the previous night. Bandages, syringes, pill containers, and various other medical supplies clack noisily all over the linoleum. Killua catches a syringe under his foot and goes rolling back at a full 180 degree turn, dragging Gon to the floor with him. 

Leorio looks to his left again. Kurapika hasn’t moved, and is still staring at the wall blankly. He presses his fingers to his temples. 

_ My life is filled with insufferable children. _

Leorio stands and takes a deep breath. He puffs out his chest and yells, 

“OKAY!!!” 

The kids in the kitchen stop moving, Killua with Gon’s shirt balled up in his fist and Gon’s hand stuck in Killua’s hair. Even Kurapika looks up, head still propped against his hand leaning on the couch. 

“I will  _ pay you. _ ” Leorio pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and starts counting his cash. The two kids drop each other immediately at the prospect of money. They both come and stand around Leorio, heads fully tilted back to stare up at the giant of a man. 

“....2,924 jenny.” He pulls the crumpled bills from his wallet and dangles it above the kids’ heads. “If you shut the fuck up and go to the store to buy whatever the hell you guys want to eat. And leave my apartment for AT LEAST 2 hours.” 

“Deal.” The two kids say in unison. Killua jumps up to grab the cash. Leorio holds it above his head. 

“I’m not done yet. Also get me another 6 pack of beer and a frozen pizza to feed all…” Leorio glances to his side. Kurapika makes eye contact with him and nods once so quickly, any other person would have missed it. 

“...All four of us.” Leorio continues to goad Killua into jumping higher to grab the cash. “And I guess, whatever Kurapika wants to drink.” 

Kurapika finally turns his whole body instead of just his head. He adjusts himself on the couch, drawing one leg up to hug it to his chest. He presses his chin to his knee and gives Leorio a look that he might categorize as  _ fond.  _

He wants to, but Leorio doesn’t think Kurapika is fond of  _ anything _ . 

“...I suppose a bottle of wine would be nice.” 

Leorio lets his expression soften, thinks about the last time he’s had a meal with another person instead of all alone in the dark. He thinks about the last time he’s had wine, spilt out of a chipped glass and all over the living room carpet when he-   
  
“Yeah, okay, pizza, old man juice, old lady grape juice. Got it.”    
  
Killua completely ruins the mood by snatching the money out from between Leorio’s fingers. He looks at the bills then narrows his eyes.   
  
“Hey, wait a minute. How are we gonna buy booze? We’re like. Twelve.” 

Gon waves his hand in the air.    
  
“It’s fine, we’ll just go to the store that the clown works at. He likes me, he sells me anything I want.” 

“NO.” Leorio and Kurapika say in unison. Kurapika stands from the couch and stares down at Gon.    
  
“Do NOT. Go to Hisoka’s shop without me or Leorio or Mito-san.” 

Gon pouts and glances to the side.   
  
“But he has all the better candy…” 

“Gon, do NOT.” 

“...Kay…” 

Kurapika seems satisfied, so he sits down again. 

“Just go to Zepile’s shop two blocks north of here. Just tell him it’s for Leorio and he’ll sell it to you.” 

“But Zepile doesn’t have the lime flavored potato chips.”    
  
“You’re NOT going to the creepy clown store!” 

“OKAY! I won’t! We’re leaving! Bye! C’mon Killua!” 

The two are out of the apartment before either Kurapika or Leorio can say another word. 

“...You think they’re gonna listen?” Leorio stares at the door, assuming the worst.    
  
“Probably not, but it’s still morning, so they’ll be fine. Hisoka usually only works at night. And even if he’s there, he knows better than to do anything during the day.” 

“I hate that fucking guy.”    
  
“I know.” 

Leorio sits back down on his side of the couch and stretches his legs out. He lets out an extremely heavy sigh and crosses his ankles. He picks up the remote and pretends to stare at the TV, feigning interest in some mundane cooking show. Kurapika’s back to leaning against the arm of the couch, still staring at the wall. Leorio absently wonders if one of his framed photos is crooked. 

They sit in silence again like it’s their favorite pass-time. Leorio recrosses his ankles. Kurapika starts picking at the lint fuzz-balled up on the fabric of the couch. Leorio coughs, like clearing his throat may also clear the tension in the air. He opens his mouth and finally speaks. 

“Did you not answer Gon’s calls, either?”

Leorio doesn’t mean it to sound accusatory, he was just curious. But Kurapika snaps his head up and tries to give Leorio a hard glare. He just raises an eyebrow in response, and Kurapika’s expression flickers with a flash of guilt. 

“I. No. I didn’t.” 

Leorio hums and reclines further into the couch, tossing his arms behind his head. 

“Gon is your favorite, so you must have had your hands full.” 

“You could say that.” 

There are so many things Leorio wants to ask.  _ How long are you staying? When will I see you again? Who hurt you? Why don’t you tell me anything? Do you remember when we-  _

“How are you feeling?” Is what he ends up settling on. Leorio has endless questions, sure, but as much as he’d like to ask, he’s more afraid of the answers he might receive. 

Kurapika presses his hand over his chest absently. 

“My head feels much better. It still hurts to breathe in deeply. I can’t raise my arms over my head or I feel like my cut is going to tear open further. Changing my shirt was impossible.” 

It occurs to Leorio that Kurapika is still wearing the same button-up shirt from the previous night, just underneath a zip-up sweatshirt. 

“Well, that makes sense. You 100% definitely need stitches, otherwise it’s never going to close up properly.” He turns and leans over the empty couch cushion. Kurapika unfurls from his spot, stretching his legs so his toes brush against Leorio’s thigh. “Here, let me see. After cleaning it out, I might be able to stitch it up tonight.”

Kurapika doesn’t make any motion to unzip his sweatshirt, but he drops his hand from his chest back to his side. Leorio reaches forward and pinches the zipper pull between his fingers. 

_ What are you doing.  _ He has the foresight to ask himself. But still, Kurpika doesn’t stop him. His hand trembles as he pulls the zipper down. The sound of the teeth splitting is deafening. 

He can hear Kurapika’s breaths growing more labored. He chocks that up to the multiple cracked ribs. Leorio swallows. His mouth feels like he’s eaten sand. 

The shirt beneath his sweatshirt only has the middle two buttons done up. He can see most of the bandages from the night before. They’re discolored slightly, but nothing in comparison to what he’d cleaned up last night. Leorio thumbs the buttons between his fingers, pops them out of the holes one at a time. It’s harder than threading a needle for stitches.

“I. I’m going to unwrap these. So I can- I need to see how you’re healing.” 

“...Sure.” Kurapika’s tone remains impassively even, but when Leorio glances up, his head is turned fully to the left and ducked down, long bangs covering his eyes. There’s a flush on his cheeks. Fever, maybe. 

Leorio really doesn’t need to see how he’s healing. It’s only been about eight hours. He’s sure Kurapika knows this.    
  
Neither of them seem to really care. 

Leorio unsticks the bandages with practiced caution and avoids skimming the open wound. HIs fingers ghost almost-there touches on the unblemished skin around the swell of Kurapika’s chest. Leorio’s hand trembles as Kurapika reaches up to wrap slender fingers around his wrist. He thinks he’s about to twist his arm and break it, but Kurapika just stays there, fingernails scratching little lines into his skin. 

“How’s it look?” 

_ Beautiful.  _

“It looks better. Pussing has gone down, the abscesses are drained. It’s still swollen, but I should be able to stitch it tonight.” 

Leorio doesn’t move his hand. He flattens his palm, fingertips tracing Kurapika’s sharp collarbones. He braces his other arm on the back of the couch while Kurapika tightens his grip around Leorio’s wrist. 

Kurapika finally looks at him, and they’re close enough that Leorio can make out the tinge of scarlet beneath artificial brown contacts. Kurapika blinks through doe-like lashes and parts his lips. 

_ When will you leave me next?  _

Leorio pushes himself so far back, he knocks his elbow into the arm of the couch. Kurapika retreats just as quickly, grabbing his sweatshirt closed with the hand that had been wrapped around Leorio’s wrist. 

“You need to-” Leorio starts, sweat beading in his hairline. He pushes his hair back. 

“Shower. I need to shower.” Kurapika finishes for him, expression wide-eyed like a fawn caught in headlights. 

“Yeah. Definitely. Don’t- Just. Be careful to not get soap in the wound. Uh. There’s waterproof bandages in the medicine cabinet.” 

“Okay.” Kurapika scuttles away from the couch, still clutching his sweatshirt in his fist. He doesn’t look back at Leorio once, disappearing down the hallway and into the bathroom.    
  
The door shuts behind him with a slam that rattles the picture frames on the wall, and Leorio hears the shower running shortly after. 

Leorio bites his lip so hard, he’s afraid he’ll chew right through the skin.

He reclines into the couch, listens to the sound of running water, and closes his eyes. 

_ Will you warn me the day you decide to never come back?  _

**Author's Note:**

> i dont use social media anymore, but i guess you can add me on discord  
> @charmanander  
> i would like leopika supremacy Friendship


End file.
